Returning Home
by sanctum-c
Summary: Tifa returns to Nibelheim and finds a town changed from her memories, but too close to her dreams.


Ever since she left – via an unexplained and unresolved mechanism – Nibelheim haunted her dreams. Not simply nightmares of the fire, though she could classify few of her troubled imaginings as something other than nightmare. The heat of the flames, the brilliant glare of red and yellow as timbers fell and burned, sparks showered and all around the populace died at the hands of a man sent to aid them.

The memory of him was sufficient to send Tifa's pulse-rate sky-rocketing and force her from sleep – and any dream of him would force her awake. Unwanted but understandable. A significant and troubling event in her past and one she had not – and might not ever – move past. But what to make of the other dreams? Nibelheim not as before – too much was different. But still recognisably her home; the looming water-tower, the decrepit pile of the Shinra mansion. All plunged into shadow and gloom, flickering mako lamps barely illuminating the mist-wreathed streets.

Things moved in the dark; furtive, uncertain movements, forms uncertain, always on the verge of moving into the light – but to behold the form- That was the point Tifa would wake. What might have been? Or perhaps what was?

She would swear to the end of her days of the hideous heat of the fire – and after the scale of the conflagration, nothing but ash could remain in its wake. But. News of Nibelheim's burning did not spread far. Many expressed confusion at her insistence, noting the town still operated as an established stopping point on the crossing of Mount Nibel. People still set off to the town. Some difficulty in finding many who had come back.

Four years after the fire and Tifa made preparations to return. Multiple factors. The strangeness of her arrival in the capital left open the possibility of a false memory in her head. Perhaps she imagined the fire, the criminal responsible's action imagined (however Sephiroth was all too real and all too dead). Perhaps the town still stood. Perhaps father was still there. Perhaps he was too.

A loner in amongst the children. Ostracised and excluded, but determined. He had big plans to leave Nibelheim like so many others, to see out the world beyond, to become like Sephiroth. Cloud Strife called her out to the water-tower one chilly Autumn night and informed her of her decision. Tifa had played this role before, but in other scenarios, the boys and girls expected something of her. Not Cloud. So, for a change, she made a request of him. To come to her aid should she need it.

Poor Cloud. An illness kept him bedridden for the month he intended to leave. After his mother fell ill and a succession of events conspired to anchor Cloud to the town. No way to fulfil his desires or Tifa's wish. No matter; she'd moved on, moves past it and attempted to prevent the circumstances from coming to pass. Martial arts training to keep her strong. Over time their friendship grew and they spent more and more time together. With only a tiny push from either and their relationship might have blossomed into something more intimate. A pity that Sephiroth arrived first. Strange that ultimately she would leave and he would stay. If he survived the fire.

Knowledge desperately sought. A long journey from Midgar to Nibelheim. It took near every gil Tifa possessed and there was nothing spared for the return. She would have to pray her most desperate desire was true and that friends and family persisted still. Or agonisingly make her way back via some other method.

Rumours of Nibelheim increased the closer she reached. The notion of entering the town and not emerging grew more prevalent. Oh, some travellers who had visited the town and come away, but some refused to talk of what they found. At times Nibelheim was a pleasant destination. Others – like this month – it was a place best avoided. Nothing more than superstitious ramblings surely.

But no transport would take Tifa to the town gates; her ride deposited her at the start of the winding trail leading up to the lower slopes of Mount Nibel as night fell. She was not afraid – but could not help the increasing trepidation as she clambered up and up.

The town started further out from the centre than memory indicated. Run down houses framed the sides of the mountain path where the grass gave way to cobblestone. The gloom hung in the air (too much like the dream). No. People still lived here. Lights on in the houses, the distant sounds of revelry. But the thick doors on those houses, the windows barred or narrow. No one moved down the street.

Tifa kept light on her feet as she continued, breath fogging the air. The chill must be keeping everyone inside, behind the heavy curtains. Not comforting enough. Closer now and distant, unfamiliar sounds on the air. Animalistic snarls and growls. Guard dogs perhaps? No. That sounded larger – and stranger.

The street continued around a corner; ahead was the main square. The water tower still loomed high above. But near to the base was a blazing fire, unfamiliar figures in long coats, scarf-covered faces, and each holding some variety of weapon. A shout from above; a pale figure in a black cowl, long rifle clutched in one hand.

"Outsider!" Who were these people? From memory they did not at all resemble any neighbour or friend. The huddled figures whirled, weapons now brandished. "Get out of here!"

A man lurched forward carrying a flaming torch. "Wait, I used to-" Too close. Tifa leapt backward as the man slashed wildly at her with the torch, his face contorted into rage. He stepped forward again. "I used to live here!" The protest fell on deaf ears; behind him, the other figures closed fast. Swords, gardening tools, guns. A thunderous crack and a rush of air beside her. The figure on the tower had fired. He fumbled with his gun and readied another shot.

These people did not seem willing to listen to reason. But neither could she risk fighting them out in the open, with the figure perched above them and others readying their own weapons. Another swipe with the torch, a man with a thin sword (not him. No grey hair) right behind him; Tifa leapt to the side and into a roll. Another crack of thunder – another shot. No time to check the proximity of the location. She needed to escape.

Running back the way she came would be virtual suicide – not enough cover. Away from the square. She skirted close to the water tower – past what looked a lot like her house (Her house still standing despite the fire). More town beyond, the trail up to the summit of Mount Nibel boasting more dwellings. Would the inhabitants help or would they be more akin to these others? Too risky. Left was the Shinra mansion; its lights dark. Tifa like seemingly every child of Nibelheim had crossed the threshold at least once as part of a test of courage. Creepy but ultimately harmless. Assuming accurate memories. And perhaps she could bar the door or at least hide inside.

The door was thankfully unlocked and Tifa slammed against it, throwing the bolts in place. Enough to hold? Who could say. She remained tensed, ready to move and- Nothing. Her pursuers had not been that far behind. She peered through a window; the figures had halted at the gate, blocking her exit but coming no further. She was safe from them for now. Tifa shivered. Perhaps there was another way out?


End file.
